


Don't Do Anyone (I Wouldn't Do)

by pipisafoat



Series: Sex Lessons by Hawkeye Pierce [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels it like an itch under his skin that won't go away, a burning fire in his veins that consumes every other need, a horde of bees in his brain that won't stop even for utter exhaustion. He feels it and nothing else, unless he's operating, and sometimes even then - and that's when he realizes it's been far too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Do Anyone (I Wouldn't Do)

He feels it like an itch under his skin that won't go away, a burning fire in his veins that consumes every other need, a horde of bees in his brain that won't stop even for utter exhaustion. He feels it and nothing else, unless he's operating, and sometimes even then - and that's when he realizes it's been far too long. He thought he could play the Army's game, but it seems he can't. Not really. Not in spirit, at least, and as much as he hates it here and wants to go home, he can't bring himself to break regulations completely. It's not that he's afraid of the dishonorable discharge, even though he knows that the world he lives in isn't ready for a doctor with homosexual tendencies, but he knows this M*A*S*H unit is just getting off the ground and can't stand to be down a doctor just so he can get off in a particular way.

It'd be one thing if he could just jerk off like normal and scratch his itch that way. And don't get him wrong, jerking off is not something he's going to stop doing, but it's not hitting the need. It helps, and it's something he and his tent mates have learned to just do quietly and pretend they can't hear each other, but it's not what he really needs.

No, he needs to be fucked. Benjamin Franklin Pierce, ladies' man, unwilling Captain in the Army of the U S of why-the-hell-are-we-in-Korea A, reluctant surgeon for torn-up kids, needs to take another man's cock up his ass. He needs to be filled and fucked and then, only then, will the bees quiet and let him focus on anything else. But that's not going to happen, not when the only men he really knows in the unit are uptight Frank, commanding-officer Henry, best-friend-and-he-won't-risk-losing-that-for-a-fuck Trapper, not-quite-crazy-enough-for-this Klinger, and Radar who ... probably knows exactly what he's thinking, and while it would make for some incredible sex to have a partner know your every need without you saying anything, it would also be a little bit creepy. And Radar's just a kid, anyway. Probably hasn't even kissed someone, much less fucked a man the way Hawkeye needs to be fucked. There's a new guy in the motor pool who is supposed to be here to stay, but he seems like the type the fall asleep halfway through the job. And maybe it'd be smarter to fuck someone who isn't going to be around for much longer, but Hawkeye knows the need will just come back, and pretty soon the only guys leaving the camp will be the recently wounded, and he's not going to even consider that. "Hey, I pulled some shrapnel out of your guts; will you fuck me in payment?" No, better to just keep an eye out for the newer permanent staff and see if anyone strikes him as ... suitably homosexual and suitably discreet.

In the meantime, though, he's got several packets of lube tucked down the side of his trunk, pilfered from the supply tent after his heterosexual assignations. The humor of that strikes him, but he's too busy trying to figure out if there's anything he's overlooked in Supply that could serve as a dildo to laugh about using the nurses as cover for stealing things for his homosexual activities.

"Sirs!"

Hawkeye and Trapper look up to see Radar standing in their doorway. "What's up?" Trapper asks, dropping the letter he was writing at the concern on the kid's face.

"It's Private Rogers."

Trapper bolts for the door before Hawkeye can even find his shoes. "What did they say?" he asks Radar, then suddenly turns to Hawkeye. "Hang out here. I'll know in ten minutes or so if I need you, but no sense worrying everybody with two doctors rushing in."

It makes sense, and it might take all ten of those minutes for Hawkeye to find his shoes. Two weeks here and the place is already consuming his belongings, sucking them in like quicksand. No, slower than that. Like regular swamp mud. "If I don't hear in 15, I'll assume I'll be alone here for a few hours."

"Don't do anyone I wouldn't do." Trapper winks quickly, then resumes the frantic pace to the post-operative ward. Hawkeye flops back on his bunk, and before he knows it, his thoughts have turned to sex. Again. Damn Trapper.

Then again, Hawkeye is pretty sure Trapper would do himself - well, he knows Trapper masturbates, and that's basically the same thing. So maybe there isn't anyone in the camp who can stick a dick in Hawkeye, but there's someone who can stick fingers in him. Someone he knows would be happy to, is good at it, likes doing it. It's not quite the same when fingering yourself (he is particularly sad at the loss of potential rimming), but it is so much better than this coiled need taking up every waking thought.

It's all he can do to keep his clothes on and his mind on what Trapper's doing in post-op. He stares at his watch as the minutes tick past, and when it hits ten he's sure they're in pre-op by now, prepping Rogers for another peek at his heart to find the remaining shrapnel Trapper was sure was in the pericardium when the kid's blood pressure dropped too low to keep operating. By 15 he's certain Trapper's hard at work and has decided he can handle the surgery alone, but he waits five more agonizing minutes just to be sure.

At the twenty minute mark, Hawkeye is almost surprised his clothes don't jump off him without his assistance. He's already hard just from thinking about what he's going to do. He fumbles for lube in his trunk and slicks his fingers even as he's rolling over. The bunk is uncomfortable on his knees, but he can't reach (and doesn't want to accidentally get off too soon) lying down, so he steals Frank's pillow from the other man's bunk to cushion him.

He starts faster than he should, too eager for it to wait, and hisses through the burn. He knows better than this, it's been way too long to just shove two fingers in, but he doesn't have the self-control to tease himself before entering. He pulls one finger out, thrusts as slowly as he can manage with just his index finger. It's good. It doesn't hurt. But it's not enough. He takes his time, as much as he can, stretching and thrusting and outright writhing on his own fingers, but it's still no time before he's plunging in three, deep and hard and absolutely not hitting his prostate, because as good as that feels, he wants to take the time to remember the finger-fucking. That's what will slake his need, not prostate stimulation, and he really needs to make this a fucking to remember. Who knows when the next time he'll get a chance is, though he's sure the need will build back up soon enough.

He's thrusting back onto his own fingers, left hand tightly gripping the top of his bunk to keep from reaching for his cock, gasping into his pillow and moaning to someone that doesn't exist. "More, more, harder, fuck, come on--" and then he hears the door to his tent bang shut.

He freezes. More accurately, he tries to freeze, but he's so desperate for it that it's more like a half-second pause followed by a deep groan as his ass shoves back again despite himself. He pulls his face from the pillow, turns to face the door, and groans again when he realizes there are eyes on him. Watching him. Watching his fingers move in his ass, watching his ass take it eagerly, watching his dick twitch and leak, watching the way his whole body rolls with the thrusts-- He groans again and blinks hard, manages to focus on the person standing in the doorway rather than the fact of being watched.

"Trapper," he gasps, but he doesn't even try to stop fucking himself. "Didn't expect you back so soon."

"I can see that." Trapper still hasn't moved. "Should I go wander around for a while, or is there room for one more in this party?"

Hawkeye tries to keep his mind on what the banter means, he really honestly does, but his mouth is out of his control. "Always room for one more in here," he replies before he can catch himself. "I mean, oh shit, Trapper--"

The other man is suddenly beside Hawkeye's bunk. "What do you mean?" he asks. "It looked like you like being watched-"

"Fuck, yes."

"But it also sounded like an invitation to participate."

Hawkeye squeezes his eyes shut, bites back another groan. He can't stop moving, faster now, sure that Trapper is still watching, sure that Trapper isn't totally disgusted, sure that Trapper is going to watch him get off, watch him, give him the hardest orgasm of his fucking life, but then there's a familiar rustling noise and a hand wrapping around his wrist.

"Yes or no."

Slick fingers dance along Hawkeye's rim where it's stretched around his own fingers, and he shoves back desperately, jerks his own fingers out. "Yes, yes, yes, oh god, come on, do it, do--" He breaks off in another loud groan, not enough warning to muffle it, as three of Trapper's fingers push their way in. They're thicker than his own. Better in every possible way. He doesn't know what's going to happen next as they thrust irregularly, and his ass shoves back against them as he moans.

The bunk shifts a bit, and Trapper's voice is rougher as he speaks. Much, much rougher. "You tell me how far to go."

"Trap," he whines, shoving back, and Trapper maneuvers between Hawkeye's spread legs until the thrusting brings their thighs together. Trapper's twisted off to one side to leave room for his fingers to work, and Hawkeye feels a bulge against the top of his thigh that he can't resist reaching back and squeezing. Trapper pushes into it, the move pushing his fingers deeper into Hawkeye, and they groan together.

"How far?" Trapper repeats, and it sounds urgent this time.

"Trap." Hawkeye can't seem to form full sentences. He can feel his orgasm coiling already at just the thought of what might be on offer. He squeezes again, then fumbles for the zipper. "Trap, Trap, Trap--"

Trapper's other hand gently moves his fumbling hand, and the thrusting fingers pause for a long moment before starting back up again. This time, there's a hard cock directly on his skin, head rubbing over his ass. He squirms, shifts, wiggles, and then with the next rock back onto the fingers, there it is - the head of Trapper's cock, brushing the edge of his hole, brushing Trapper's own fingers.

"Fuck, Hawk." Trapper is practically breathless, and he pulls his fingers out. Hawkeye registers his protest via moan, pushing back again, and when the head of Trapper's cock rubs over his stretched open and now unoccupied hole, he can't contain himself.

"Trap!" He reaches back with one hand to grab at Trapper's still-clothed thigh, his other hand still wrapped firmly on the top of the bunk. "Oh, God."

Trapper rubs all around the hole, then sets his tip just at the rim and holds Hawkeye's hips firmly. "Yes or no, Hawkeye, please, God, say it now--"

"Trap--"

"Gotta hear it--"

He gasps for breath at the tiny thrusts Trapper can't seem to hold back, just enough to really tease the penetration. "Yes," he forces out, and the tiny thrusts suddenly turn into one big lunge, Trapper pushing in hard as far he can fit and then humping his hips against Hawkeye's ass like it'll get him even deeper.

That's it. That's what he needs, exactly what he needs, all he needs. The itch in his skin, the fire in his veins, the bees in his brain all coalesce in the base of his dick, and he feels his ass clench as the first spasm of orgasm hits him from that one thrust. He releases the top of his bunk, grabs his dick and pumps it hard and tight as he comes and comes, squeezing out every last drop of his release until his balls feel lighter than air. He's dimly aware of Trapper rocking and groaning as his own orgasm finds its way into Hawkeye's ass, barely conscious of Trapper easing his legs straight one at a time and following him down flat onto the bed carefully, never leaving the grasp of his ass.

The last thing he hears before he very quickly and suddenly falls asleep is a quiet rumble from Trapper. "Best friend I've ever had, and this doesn't change that."

He denies all of Trapper's future claims that he passed out after sex, because Hawkeye Pierce does not pass out even for a reason as good as excellent sex, but he never denies that round two when he wakes up is at least as good as the spontaneous orgasm of round one.


End file.
